


So Do the Days Pass

by mycitruspocket



Series: Marbles - Lost and Found [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Can be read as a stand alone fic, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Massage, Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/pseuds/mycitruspocket
Summary: "I'm never going to move again. Ever," Jaskier says, voice muffled by the pillows."You don't have to," Geralt says softly, smiling to himself.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Marbles - Lost and Found [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793992
Comments: 16
Kudos: 214





	So Do the Days Pass

**Author's Note:**

> This story can be read as a stand alone, you don't have to read part 1 of this series since there is not much plot here, but of course you are more than welcome to do so.
> 
> Thanks to my muse hooptedoodle for the beta and all the brainstorming. Also to chasingriver, because I still remember our conversation about the lack of intercrural sex in fic ages ago. Look, I did it again! :D
> 
> Title borrowed from Jaskier's ballad 'As Time Passes' from Season of Storms.

They’ve been on the road for about a week, slowly leaving Redanian civilization behind, travelling north-eastward into hilly territory, when they finally make it to the inn halfway up a hill range. It’s tiny but at least it seems clean enough and although they have missed supper, the innkeeper promises there to be a good breakfast. 

Geralt doesn’t mind for himself, but he's become accustomed to mind for Jaskier's sake, even though he so seldomly complains. It had been a rather long, steep hike up the hills, and they both agreed on sparing Roach their weight after having taken turns in the saddle for the past week. Geralt had seen the fatigue in Jaskier grow over the course of the day, but the path was rocky and the hillside sparsely wooded, not suited to make a safe camp for the night. So they’d walked on, with Geralt hoping his information about the inn a few miles away was not obsolete.

Now Jaskier is leaning heavily against the bar, he looks like he needs the support to stay upright, nonetheless there’s an air of contentment around him.

Sometimes, on desperate lonely nights, Geralt had entertained thoughts of how their travelling routine would change were they ever to become lovers, but come dawn he had shoved it carefully back into a far corner of his mind. Now, the reality of it still so new, he knows he can't tell for certain yet, but it seems they have settled smoothly into it. Little of their routine has changed at all, now he gives himself a moment to think about it. 

In hindsight, they had migrated towards each other from the start, each year bringing them closer together. Where their bedrolls had started out to be on opposite sides of the campfire, they had drifted closer and closer, and are now rolled out neatly side by side. Or where they had started out sleeping in separate rooms, they quickly got over that by agreeing it wasn't worth the coin, and after an especially long stretch of travel time without a bed, Jaskier had declared that he was not willing to even think about flipping a coin for the last remaining bed in the inn, sharing a bed was something that grew to be a habit as well. Geralt has yet to ask Jaskier if the latter eased his yearning for Geralt, or if it actually made it worse. 

The thought of Jaskier growing tired of living out of a small pack with dirty clothes for most of the year has long since abandoned Geralt's mind, because after more than a decade, Jaskier has proven to be as persistent to follow him as he was on day one of their acquaintance. But on occasions like this, when it seems obvious that Geralt, once again, has asked too much of him, the thought surfaces. 

As Geralt looks at him while they are waiting for the innkeeper to return with the key to their room, Jaskier's tired eyes find his and he smiles his warmest smile, washing Geralt's doubts away, replacing them with an idea.

The moment they enter the small but comfortable room for the night, Jaskier throws himself face down onto the bed with an exhausted groan. 

“I'm never going to move again. Ever,” Jaskier says, voice muffled by the pillows. 

“You don't have to,” Geralt says softly, smiling to himself.

“Nah,” Jaskier says, and against his earlier statement moves his head sideways to face Geralt, “never saw myself retiring in the mountains, and not at such a young age anyway. Always thought the coast would suit me better. However, the view is astonishing up here. Worth the long and winding path uphill. You always take me to the most beautiful places, my dearest witcher.”

Geralt has often found himself disarmed by Jaskier's words, especially when they take him by surprise like this. Here he’d thought Jaskier was beyond exhausted but he always seems to have a hidden source of strength to find comforting words for Geralt. He walks over and sits down on the side of the bed, laying a hand on Jaskier's lower back.

“I meant, I'm going to do the moving for the rest of the night, if you let me,” Geralt says, softly.

Jaskier manages to suddenly look lascivious by moving solely the muscles of his face. “How can I refuse such an offer,” he says in a low voice, waggling his eyebrows. “Do what you please, I'm all yours.”

“I want to please _you_ , you idiot,” Geralt laughs.

“I’d like to see how you take my clothes off when I stay like this, is all,” Jaskier grins mischievously, but still not moving.

“Trying to be romantic here, Jaskier. You’re not helping,” Geralt grunts fondly.

“The one time I’m doing what he tells me, and he calls me unhelpful. Whatever shall I make of that?” says Jaskier in his most dramatic voice.

“Help me to get you naked, then shut up and enjoy. That better?” Geralt chuckles low in his throat.

“And where has your romantic streak gone off to now?” Jaskier laughs and turns, deliberately slowly, onto his back. His fingers, however, make quick work with the remaining few buttons of his shirt.

“I’ll give you romantic,” Geralt says, and stops the argument successfully with a deep kiss.

-

Once they manage to get Jaskier out of all his clothes, they’re both panting and Jaskier has done much more moving than Geralt intended. When Geralt looks at him, his eyes are sparkling, no hint of exhaustion to be seen in the cornflower blue depth. 

Like most years, Jaskier had joined him right after a winter of teaching in Oxenfurt, so Geralt is aware that he’s not used to so much legwork anymore. And in this case, he’s also had a subsequent stop at the residence of the countess de Stael, where Geralt knows he gets excessively spoilt every time. Following that, after only a few days of light travelling, there were of course the weeks after the djinn incident in Rinde, which they mostly spent in bed or camp, wrapped up in exploring each other as time passed without them noticing or caring.

Geralt supposes Jaskier’s body simply has to adjust to life on the road again each spring, and he’d simply need a bit more rest, time to truly relax. Jaskier, of course, is not one prone to laziness, and if Geralt would simply suggest something like that, he’d laugh in his face and do the exact opposite. So Geralt will try his best to make this rest as interesting as possible for his bard, nothing can deter him from his plan now. Geralt simply wants to soothe all these annoyingly human pains in a way he wasn’t able to, before. 

No, never _allowed himself_ to, even though Jaskier has been doing these things for him for years. Massages, washing, wound dressing; Jaskier has gently taken care of him so many times, and Geralt had often dismissed it as a mix of overprotectiveness, shamelessness and complete lack of restraint. Now he can’t imagine the restraint and control Jaskier must have mustered to have Geralt spread out like this for him, touching him whilst denying his own longing just to make Geralt feel comfortable.

Jaskier is now lying on his belly in all his naked glory, arms folded under his head, hugging a pillow and with half-lidded eyes, he’s watching Geralt fumble out of his clothes. Finally naked himself, Geralt kneels astride Jaskier’s legs and warms the oil in his palms before spreading it evenly on Jaskier’s skin. He chose chamomile, best for soothing sore muscles after all. The aroma bears many memories and mixed with Jaskier’s scent, it makes Geralt's belly flutter in excitement.

Digging his fingers carefully into the tense muscles of Jaskier’s back, Geralt drags his thumbs along his spine and massages his soft sides. Encouraged by Jaskier’s groans of relief at the pleasure-pain of his tight muscles being loosened, he adds more oil and runs his hands over the curve of Jaskier’s bottom. Geralt kneads his cheeks with soft pressure for a while before moving on to massage his upper thighs with care. 

He's got strong legs, firm muscle under soft skin covered with a layer of dark, downy hair. Legs that are a bit too strongly built even for a bard that chose a life of travelling the continent instead of a permanent position at court. Jaskier's legs, Geralt realises as he massages up and down his firm calves, are shaped this way because he chose a life beside Geralt. A witcher’s life of fast escapes and long-distance travels without much rest in-between and only one horse to share.

All the while Jaskier is pliant and mostly quiet beneath him, only soft gasps of pleasure and sweet words of praise escaping him now, which Geralt drinks in hungrily and acknowledges with humming sounds of his own. He’s trying his best to suppress his growing urges by thinking about the countless times Jaskier had to do it. It proves to be exceedingly difficult with his hands touching his warm skin, his nose picking up the scent of Jaskier’s growing arousal and his eyes raking over the planes of Jaskier’s back.

Geralt glides his hands upwards, along Jaskier’s hips, sides, and then further up to his shoulders. The leather band of Jaskier’s marble pendant is in the way, so Geralt nudges it carefully up until it rests along his nape. Jaskier hasn’t taken it off since Geralt gave it to him, which makes him feel oddly proud that it had been accepted as an apology for the past and a promise for the future.

He applies more oil, dribbles it between his shoulder blades to smooth it out along his upper arms. Arms that show the same signs of a life on the road with Geralt, which often lift more weight than a bard would normally have to.

Geralt has noticed the growing bulge of his biceps over the years, too. A particularly hot summer day a few years back comes to mind, where Jaskier had disposed of his shirt right after Geralt had agreed to make camp at a shady spot along a river. Jaskier had been the one who unloaded the saddlebags, with Geralt unable to avert his eyes for long, and then worse, had set out for a swim in the river. Geralt remembers watching Jaskier glide through the clear water with strong strokes of his arms, back and forth from shore to shore a few times. He also remembers that Jaskier hadn't put the shirt back on until the next morning.

Jaskier’s beautiful body has adapted to Geralt’s way of life, and even a few months spent as a professor can’t change that. It’s merely his endurance in the first few weeks after the winter break that needs a little training on the road, and Geralt really should have known better than to choose a mountain path so early on. At least now he’s finally allowing himself to be the one doing the soothing, the caring—the loving.

As Geralt strokes his hands down Jaskier’s back, he lingers for a moment on one of the thankfully few scars Jaskier has gotten on their adventures, a long healed cut across his side. He thinks he might never be able to make up for all the missed opportunities where he could have shown Jaskier how much he’s always cared, in his own repressed way. Geralt drops a kiss there before he sits up briefly to spread Jaskier’s thighs so he can settle between them.

The scent of Jaskier’s arousal is getting stronger now that Geralt works his thumbs in smooth circles over his bottom, and it spikes up even more when he spreads his cheeks carefully to run his index finger slowly up and down his cleft.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier pants, raising his hips, his heartbeat beginning to drum faster. Geralt’s own desire is reaching a point where holding it back is getting increasingly difficult, but he wants to draw this out for Jaskier’s sake, wants to savour this.

“Shhh,” Geralt whispers, and pushes his hips back down. “Relax, let me do this slowly,” he breathes against his entrance before he tentatively circles his tongue around it.

Jaskier lets out a series of whines while Geralt laps lazily at his hole, but he settles back into the mattress eventually, although his heartbeat might be impossible to calm down now. Geralt takes it deliberately slowly, puts soft pressure onto him with his hands as he holds him open and keeps licking lightly for a while longer. He hasn’t done this to Jaskier before and the intimacy of this act fills him with a heady feeling. It fuels his desire to please Jaskier, to show him that he is capable of taking care of him.

Once he pushes the tip of his tongue inside, Jaskier’s hips try to buck again, but Geralt holds him steady. His idea to also soothe him with a low hum turns out to be counterproductive as Jaskier moans loudly while the vibrations of Geralt’s voice make him shudder. 

Geralt loses a bit of his control then, pushes his tongue in deeper as he rumbles low in his throat, making Jaskier moan even louder as he squirms underneath him.

Jaskier pushes himself up on his elbows and Geralt looks up, tongue still between Jaskier’s cheeks as their eyes meet. 

“Fucking hells, _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier huffs over his shoulder, eyes impossibly wide. “You are marvellous, absolutely breathtaking.” 

Geralt feels the need to kiss him right now and crawls up his body, but at the last moment pushes his nose behind Jaskier’s ear instead, not knowing if Jaskier would want that after where his tongue has been. So he stays there, letting Jaskier’s scent flood his senses while he presses his body flush against Jaskier’s back. His cock slips along Jaskier’s slick cleft and Geralt can’t help but roll his hips, finally giving in to his own lust and thankful for the friction. He’s very careful not to slip in, just slides his cock between Jaskier’s cheeks, lips now moving along Jaskier’s neck, kissing him there instead, openmouthed.

Jaskier presses his forehead into the pillows, arching his upper spine and Geralt feels goosebumps building under his lips.

“Jaskier,” he whispers into his skin, “how could you do this for me and not go mad with want, thinking you couldn't have me, after? Thinking I wouldn't want you?” Even in his own ears, his voice sounds raw and gravelly, barely audible.

“My dearest,” Jaskier raises one hand and twists around so he can reach behind enough to cup Geralt’s face. “I had you in every way you were willing to give yourself to me. It wasn’t easy, but I accepted it.”

Jaskier kisses him then, as deeply as the awkward angle allows, and Geralt forgets all about his earlier concerns. When they part for air, Geralt rolls off Jaskier’s back and quickly pulls him in by his hips, nestling his cock between his oil-slick thighs. He pushes one arm under his side so he can hold Jaskier close with a hand pressed on his stomach, and the other one resting on his hip.

Jaskier’s back is now flush against Geralt’s front and he rolls his hips back against Geralt’s groin, encouraging him to start thrusting. With a grunt, Geralt obliges, not able to resist the tight warmth, especially not when after a few slow thrusts, he feels Jaskier’s muscles squeezing around his cock, making the path tighter.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jaskier moans as Geralt’s cock nudges against his balls, “this is fantastic, do that again!”

Geralt presses his forehead against the nape of Jaskier’s neck, moaning deeply with every thrust. He feels already on edge as fingers curl around the hand that has a desperate hold on Jaskier’s hip. Jaskier takes it and guides it to his cock, and when Geralt grips it, Jaskier’s fingers wrap around his own. 

“Like this, Geralt, don’t hold back,” Jaskier says, and then his voice breaks when they stroke him in unison. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt moans his name into his skin because he knows how much Jaskier likes to hear him, and he’s learning to let go of a lifetime of trying to be as silent as possible. And because of that, he searches his lust addled mind for something else to say, something Jaskier would like.

“Beautiful, you are,” he tries, and Jaskier gasps, then tenses in his arms and comes over their joined hands. Shocked that his words had such an impact, Geralt follows him right over the edge, thrusting into the hot, tight passage of Jaskier’s thighs and spilling where his own hand is still wrapped around Jaskier’s cock. He keeps stroking Jaskier carefully through his climax while he himself is shaking behind him, listening to the praise mixed with obscenity tumbling from Jaskier’s mouth, which he is obviously not able to contain after he’d been mostly quiet for so long.

“Mind-blowing shit, Geralt, that was fucking —” 

“Shhh,” Geralt interrupts him at some point. “Don’t spoil the romantic mood here, poet,” he says and then laughs into Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” Jaskier huffs and turns in his arms to face him, his lips curled into an adorable pout. “Give me a minute to recover and I shall write a sonnet about my experience with your skilled hands _and_ tongue. And then, let me put _my_ tongue in _your_ arse and then we’ll see how your romantic vocabulary can hold up.”

“You are welcome to try, but since I have none to begin with, wouldn’t that be unfair?” Geralt asks, tightening his arms around Jaskier’s back.

“Ah, you see, I wouldn’t put it like that. You said some lovely things there, remember?” Jaskier nudges their noses together playfully, but Geralt casts down his gaze. His face feels too hot and he’s not so sure about his inability to blush anymore. “Thank you Geralt, you took such good care of me. That’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it?”

Geralt looks at him again and nods, grateful that Jaskier always gets the things he can’t quite articulate.

“And you succeeded. I’ve never felt so cared for in my entire life. But that’s not just because of what you did today, or the past weeks. You’ve been taking care of me in other ways, you’re only now learning the physical and articulate side of it.”

“It was never enough, Jaskier,” Geralt says, brushing their lips together hesitantly.

“It’s been enough for me to stay. You taught me patience, Geralt,” Jaskier says and gives him a peck on the lips. “You might have also accidentally taught me to seek my sexual pleasure elsewhere — which is no hardship to unlearn now I have you — but it was a necessary skill for me to acquire since you are now well aware of how stimulating a massage can be for a masseur in love. It was my choice to stay with you, Geralt. It still is, and I’ll choose it every day.”

“You tried to run though, a few times,” Geralt remembers.

“Alright, yes, I did. Even I have bad days, but that's a story for another time,” Jaskier says in his most serious voice, and Geralt knows when he asks about it, Jaskier will tell him. “The important thing is, I always came back. You know me, Geralt, I'm an optimist. I always carried with me a sliver of hope that you’d let me come closer. And you constantly did, bit by bit. One day you were so out of it after a fight you let me wash your hair and it only went uphill from there. Well, I say uphill now that I'm safely in your arms, my scarred heart may tell a different story, but this is after all where I ended up. So I was right to hang it onto that sliver of hope, even if it hurt along the long, long, _really fucking long_ way.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down,” Geralt sighs, and Jaskier shouldn’t.

“15 years, Geralt,” Jaskier clutches at his heart and throws his head back in his most theatrical fashion. “I waited 15 years, but since I happen to have such a forgiving and generous personality, I am willing to give up jokes about this particular matter.”

“16,” Geralt says, deadpan, trying not to be amused by Jaskier’s adoring dramatics. It’s hard, especially when looking at Jaskier doing the math in his head with his tongue poking out in concentration.

“I can’t believe it! 16 fucking years, Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, slapping Geralt on the chest. “You sly oaf! You kept count all this time, and I thought you were, by witcher nature, kind of ignorant about the passing of time.”

“Not about the important things,” Geralt admits, and because it’s true, he adds, “and you are important to me. Always been.”

“Oh Geralt,” and just like that, the mock-outrage falls from his face and Jaskier’s features soften, his voice drops and goes all serious again. “I will stop making fun of that, if it upsets you, alright? Always tell me when I go too far, please.”

“I will, but it’s alright. I deserve it,” Geralt says and pulls him close again where he’d drifted away during his theatrics.

“Maybe a bit, for being a dick about the whole friendship thing so often. But I decided you’ve suffered enough now, darling. Oh I know, you can make up for it by getting up and persuading them to run us a bath! Now that would be just splendid, wouldn’t it?”

“Hm,” Geralt contemplates, but he supposes they are sticky and gross and a bath would actually contribute to his initial plan of making Jaskier relax. Also, Jaskier’s pout is very hard to resist. “Alright.”

“Ah, my love, you really _are_ the best,” Jaskier singsongs and rewards him with a kiss that doesn’t seem designed to let Geralt go at all. So after indulging Jaskier for a while longer, he draws away. Jaskier clings to him and pouts again.

“You’re ridiculous,” Geralt laughs, kisses his nose and gets up. He quickly pulls on his shirt and trousers and gives up on straightening his hair altogether before he heads for the door to get this over with.

“16 fucking years,” Jaskier whines just when Geralt was about to reach for the door. He turns around and Jaskier smiles whimsically.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to give it up,” Geralt snorts.

“I’ll stop when it doesn’t make you laugh anymore, promise,” Jaskier says coyly.

Geralt laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are more than welcome, let's connect and spread positivity during these difficult times!
> 
> Next story in this verse is already in the making!


End file.
